


Universe.MP3

by FayOfTheForest



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Amnesia, Awkward Doctor (Doctor Who), Blushy, Eleventh Doctor Angst, Eleventh Doctor Era, Hate to Love, Meddling TARDIS, Mystery, Non binary Reader, Other, Plot, Professor River Song - Freeform, Reader-Insert, River Song is Saved, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, they/them pronouns for reader, tweaking canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:21:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25941265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FayOfTheForest/pseuds/FayOfTheForest
Summary: “Okay,” River takes your hand in her right, and the Doctor’s in her left, “Let’s just all calm down, and start from the beginning.” She pauses, “Sorry, who are you, exactly?”“I don’t know,” you say. “I don’t know who I am.”She looks a little taken aback by this, and turns to the Doctor for clarification.“Don’t look at me,” he puts his hands up, “I don’t know either.”River rolls her eyes, “Well, that’s helpful.”“Hey, that’s what we came here to figure out!”“Okay then, just… just start from the beginning.”
Relationships: Eleventh Doctor/Reader, Eleventh Doctor/River Song, River Song/Reader
Comments: 14
Kudos: 115





	1. Falling

No one knows exactly how you arrived. What with it being the middle of the night, and on the coast of Crete, 503 BCE, there wasn't exactly a large selection of convenient witnesses to question. Only you, yourself, did know, but-- well, we’ll get to that.

There is only one man you could ask. A man with a funny sort of bow-tie and eyes so piercing they cut right through you. If you were to ask him, and you did later many times, those eyes would crinkle up into a wicked grin. “You fell,” He would say. “You fell, and I caught you.” And him being the only one who remembers, you have no choice but to take his word for it.

Of course, what he was doing in such a place at the time is a question he can answer in a rather less vague way. “I was pushed. Or, pulled, maybe. Either way, it wasn’t intentional.” You see, he was on my way to Epsilon IV, to attend the crowning of their new governor, but the TARDIS was knocked off course. After a lot of shaking and shuddering, he’d opened the doors to find himself knee-deep in a wheat field. Everything was so, so quiet. Unnaturally quiet. No crickets chirped, and not a lick of wind rustled through the grasses. Disconcerted, he was considering turning around and leaving when he’d heard the screaming. This is where you came in. Well, fell in.

It took him a moment to register where it was coming from, and that it was growing steadily louder. He clocked it and staggered back a few paces as he peered upwards at the night sky. Completely starless, eerily so. And yet, somehow, he could see you quite clearly, screaming and flailing as you fell. Any sane man would have ducked, maybe run for cover, to shield themselves from the inevitable bloody mess that was fast approaching, but of course, this was not a sane man. Instead, instinctively, he held out his arms. The TARDIS worked her wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey magic, and suddenly your fall was as gentle as a feather. He caught you quite neatly in his arms, and for a moment neither of you said anything, just stared at each other. You were shaking, and I think he was too, though he’d never admit that part.

“Well,” he was the first to break the silence - as he always is. “That was quite a tumble.”  
You might have tried to say something, only at that moment the adrenaline wore off and you were hit with the full force that was the pain in your head. Searing, roaring pain, like mounting pressure, which felt like a thousand needles desperate to escape your skull, except those needles were on fire, and your skull was also on fire, and everything was on fire. Your hands flew to your head and you cried out in agony, so loud and startling that the man dropped you. You landed in a heap on the ground, but you were numbed to the impact by the overwhelming sensation in your brain. Nothing was real to you but the pain.

“What is it?” he crouched hurriedly down beside you, tilting your head up. “Hey, hey - look at me! What’s wrong?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. You started tearing at your head, pulling out chunks of hair, as if you could let what was inside out.

He grabbed your hands and pinned them to the ground. “Alright, headache, yes! Obviously. But-- but why? What’s causing this? How did you get here? Who even are you?”

It took every fibre of your body to find the strength to speak, “Everything! I am everything!”

This was not the answer he was looking for, nor one he could make sense of. “Well…” he was out of his depth, and thus defaulted to his gut response. “I’m the Doctor. Are you able to stop screaming so loudly for just one moment?”

All of a sudden, you did stop. “You’re a doctor?” You looked into his wide eyes, his face wracked with concern. “Can you make me well?”

“I can certainly try.”

“Oh, good.” Your eyes rolled back in your head. You went out like a light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you're enjoying this fic, feel free to drop me a kudos + comment - it really makes my day :) || Shoot me a message, ask or fic request on my Tumblr - https://fayoftheforest.tumblr.com


	2. Awakening

You’re awake now. At least, you think so, only you can’t seem to see anything but bright, golden light. You blink rapidly, but it doesn’t go away. You raise your hand to your face, only to find you can just about see its faint silhouette, even when you move it to just inches away from your nose. The air feels almost thick. Bizarre.

“Hello?” you call out. Nothing happens. “What’s going on?” you try again.

The sound of a door bursting open comes from your right, and immediately the light starts to drain out the room. “Shit!” A panicked man runs in, and begins flailing his arms, trying to waft it out, “This is bad, this is very, very--” he stops in his tracks when he notices you watching him.

You’re sitting up in a big, mahogany bed, in a decent-sized place you might call a bedroom if it didn’t have a cold, unlived in feeling of a hotel. There’s a chest of drawers pressed against the right wall and an empty desk against the left. There are two doors - one which the man came in from, and another which is shut. There are no pictures on the walls. No books on the empty shelf. It’s as if you’ve woken up in one of the set rooms from IKEA - though I suppose you don’t know what that is, do you? Anyway, it was disconcerting.

“You’re… You’re alive.” The man stares at you like you're a ghost - or perhaps like you should be.

“Why wouldn’t I be alive?” you rub your eyes sleepily. Your head feels heavy like it’s stuffed with clouds and cotton wool.

“But how…” He moves to the side of the bed to get a better look at you. “How many fingers am I holding up?” He sticks up all ten.

“Ten.”

“How many fingers have you got holding up?”

“Um… none?”

“How about in total?”

You count. “Ten as well.”

“And you haven’t got any other body parts missing?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

He shakes his head, and peers into your eyes - first the left, then the right - as if there might be a secret hidden behind them. He’s looking so intently, maybe there is. “Well, that seems to be in order, too,” he nods curtly, “Alright, open wide for me.”

You open your mouth.

“Great, say aah! I’m just going to count your teeth.”

You pull the covers up over your mouth and frown at him. “Sorry, who are you?”

“I’m the Doctor,” he holds out his hand for you to shake.

Well, for a doctor, his bedside manner could do with some improvement. You take his hand and shake it warily. “And who am I?”

“Ah,” the Doctor takes the chair tucked by the desk, swivels it around, and sits down on it backwards, “I was rather hoping you could tell me that.”

You find you can’t. “I… I don’t know. I don’t know who I am.” This is a very alarming realisation. Panic starts to rise like bile in your throat.

“Well, do any of us know who we are?” he muses. “I mean, philosophically speaking, the sense of self--”

“No, I mean I literally don’t know who I am! I don’t know how I got here, I don’t know anything in my entire life that happened before I woke up, and I don’t know why my head feels so full when it’s so utterly empty! I don’t even know my name.”

“Oh,” he looks a little stunned. “Well, that puts us in quite a predicament.”

“And you don’t know anything either?”

“Oh, no!” the Doctor laughs, “No, I’d say I know quite a lot, generally. I can tell you how you got here, for a start.”

“And how was that?”

He grins, eyes crinkling up. “You fell.”

“I… I fell?”

“You fell, and I caught you.” He then proceeds to tell you what I did before (only I like to think I told it better than he did - though I doubt he’d say so).

“Well,” you say slowly, once he’s finished. It takes you a moment to process it all. “That leaves me with a lot more questions than you answered.”

“Doesn’t it just!” the Doctor says, and he looks quite delighted by this, thrilled by the fact that he doesn’t know something.

You are not enjoying this as much as he is, and the high he seems to be getting off this is very irritating. The sensation of not knowing anything about yourself - not one single thing - is unique in the way that it feels nothing like simple ignorance. It’s like reaching for something you know is there, only to find it isn’t. Like going up a flight of stairs, and thinking there’s one more step when there really isn’t: that second of tension, of suspension, greeted by an unpleasant jolt of emptiness. “So, that’s it? Does no one else know a thing about who I am?” Your voice breaks a little, but he doesn’t seem to pick up on your distress.

“Not at all! Well, sort of. We don’t know much about you yet,” the Doctor twirls around on the spinny chair as he talks, like a child discovering a delightful new game. “But there’s a mountain of clues for us to piece together, and I’ve already got quite a few theories. Watson, the game's afoot!”

“What? My name’s not Watson.”

“No, it’s a- it’s a Sherlock Holmes reference,” he frowns. He rolls the chair closer, moving smoothly over the hardwood floor. “But what makes you so certain that’s not your name?”

You pause a second. “Watson,” you say, more to yourself than he. “Watson, Watson, Watson.” You shrug, “It just doesn’t feel right, is all.”

“Curiouser and curiouser.” The Doctor eyes you out of the corner of his eye, as if hoping to get a reaction from that phrase, too, but whatever he’s looking for, you don’t have it. Even if you did, you’d be damned if you gave him the satisfaction of such.

Gods, what a piercing gaze he has. You shift uncomfortably in the bed. “Um, sorry, but… is there anywhere I could have a bath? Maybe get changed out of… these.” You notice, for the first time, what you’re wearing: a simple tunic, with quite a lot of patches, freckled with what looks like a hundred cigarette marks. You raise one on your collar to your nose and sniff - yes, definitely a burn mark. The smoky scent makes you cough involuntarily, and when you open your eyes, you see a little cloud of gold light has appeared in front of you. The Doctor stares at it, and then stares at you, his mouth agape. If it were open any wider, he might start catching flies.

"You- you're a- but how- I don't-" he stammers.

"What?" you ask nervously, "What is that thing? How did it get there? Is that what filled the room up earlier?"

The doctor stand abruptly.“The bathroom’s just through there.” He nods to the closed door, opposite your bed, as he hastily tucks the chair back where it belongs. “I’ll be in the TARDIS control room if you need anything.” He’s out the door before you have time to ask what a TARDIS even is. How frustrating.

Whoever this Doctor man is, you’re not sure you like him much at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you're enjoying this fic, feel free to drop me a kudos + comment - it really makes my day :) || Shoot me a message, ask or fic request on my Tumblr - https://fayoftheforest.tumblr.com


	3. Dressing

The bathroom is as equally untouched as the bedroom. It’s got all the basic bits and bobs that one might expect of such a place - toilet, sink, shower, bath, the works. There’s a full-length mirror hung on one wall, and you move closer to get a good look at yourself. Your clothes drop to the floor, and there you stand, naked as the day you were born, admiring the reflection. You’re greeted, for the very first time, with the comforting sense of familiarity. Yes, that’s my body alright, you think. You twist and turn to get a good look, squishing and prodding everywhere, revelling in how at home you feel in it. You move closer and kneel, to get a better look at your face, contorting it into all sorts of expressions. Look at that smile! Isn’t it lovely?

You could spend all day doing this, but you decide that’s enough celebrating for now. You move on to exploring the rest of the bathroom. You open the cabinet above the sink to find it’s completely empty, except for a tube of toothpaste and toothbrush, still pristine in its packet. After poking around the rest of the room, you don’t find much except for a hairdryer, a set of towels, and an assortment of soaps and shampoos. You start running the bath, and brush your teeth whilst you wait for it to fill, kneeling by the edge and watching the water rise, clear as glass.

How nice it is to steep in the hot water. Your tense muscles begin to relax, uncurling like the patterns the steam makes as it rises from the surface of the water. You investigate the soaps further, and find one labelled “bath bomb”. Well, you think that sounds violent, so reason it’s best to avoid that. Instead, you coat your hair in a conditioner that smells like rosehip and cinnamon, and lather up your hands from a pearlescent pink bar, before running it over your body. You lie back contentedly, and find yourself milling over recent events - though what other events could you mill over?

So then. You fell, or so you’re told. Well, unlikely as that sounds, it does feel true. If you concentrate, you can almost recall such a sensation. The feeling of air rushing past you at an astronomical speed, nipping and biting as it went. The weightlessness. The fear. The impact. You shiver at the thought, and decide that perhaps you’ll enjoy reminiscing more when you’ve got some good memories. Perhaps later you can think back on what a lovely bath you had.

You rinse, and get out of the tub, wrapping yourself in a plush blue towel. You’ve just finished drying your hair when you realise that you’ve got nothing to change into. Your old clothes look like nothing more than a pile of filthy rags on the floor, and the idea of putting them back on is not a pleasant one. Reluctantly, you conclude there is only one man you can ask. Here’s hoping the Doctor’s your size.

You exit the bathroom, and pad across the bedroom to the door which he left in. You open it to find a grey corridor. Is this a “TARDIS control room”? Apparently not, as the Doctor doesn’t seem to be here.

“Doctor?” you call out dubiously.

“In here!” A chipper voice calls from the end of the corridor. You follow it, and soon find where it came from. 

Wow.

A glorious, ginormous room, lit with a yellow glow. There are thick wires hanging from the high ceiling, and a low hum emanating from the centre, where a strange control hub is. At least, judging by all the buttons and levers, you assume it’s some sort of control. What could it be controlling, though? Whatever it is, it must be magnificent! Is that the sort of person I am? you wonder. The kind that gets excited by machines? You are.

The Doctor is standing with his back to you, typing away at a furious speed, but he lifts his head when he hears you coming down the stairs. “Ah, there you are!” he says, turning around, “I was beginning to wonder-” He catches sight of you in your towel and trails off. 

“I like your wall circles,” you say, because you do.

A blush creeps up his neck and stains his cheeks as red as his bow-tie. “Yes…” he gulps, “Circles. Good.” He averts his eyes, but flicks them back once or twice, as if checking you’re still there.

Well, it’s nice to know you’re not the only one who likes the body you’ve got, but you’re getting a little bit cold now. “Clothes,” you prompt.

“Yes?” his voice sounds almost strained. Gods, even the tips of his ears have flushed, too. If this goes on any longer, his hair might start turning red, as well (not that he’d complain about being ginger).

“I need clothes,” you say.

“Right! Of course!” he finally clocks it. “Just through there, take a right, third door on the left. You’ll find a whole room full of them.”

“Thanks,” you start to head in that direction. Right before you step into the hallway, you take a peek back round at him and, yes, he’s staring again. You give him a little wave and he turns away abruptly, as if he could convince you he hadn’t been transfixed at all. You lean against the door frame and he shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot, fiddling with dials and switches. Oh, how you love to see him squirm. Serves him right.

You find the room he was talking about easily enough, and are pleased to discover that miraculously everything is your size. Its floor-to-ceiling clothes wracks in here, and you could very easily spend the rest of your life going through all the bizarre garments in stock, but in the end you settle for a silky shirt and corduroy bottoms, and after rooting around a little, a red scarf. You admire yourself from every angle in the mirror, and decide you can afford to undo the top few buttons. Hot.

You make your way back to the control room, where the Doctor seems to have recovered his composure.

“Ta-da!” You do a little twirl, presenting your outfit proudly.

He looks you up and down. “You’ve not got a bow tie,” Is all he says.

“Why would I want one?”

He looks offended and adjusts his own. “Bow ties are cool!”

“I’ve lost my memory, not my sense of style,” you tease, and he pouts sulkily. He looks as if he might say something else, undoubtedly some sort of ingenious retort, when your stomach gives a loud rumble.

“Hungry?” the Doctor asks, a gleam in his eye, “I know just the place.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you're enjoying this fic, feel free to drop me a kudos + comment - it really makes my day :) || Shoot me a message, ask or fic request on my Tumblr - https://fayoftheforest.tumblr.com


	4. Eating

Well, it’s certainly a surprise to go through the doors to find nothing but a boxy shell on the outside. You poke your head back in to double-check, but yes, the door leads to the same impossibly large room. You walk the circumference of the outside, running your hand along the siding, as if you expect to find some sort of hole to explain it all away. You don’t, but something about it seems explainable to you. A niggling feeling, in the back of your head.

All the while, the Doctor eyes you with delight. “Well?” he asks excitedly.

“‘Well’ what?”

“What do you think?”

“It’s… blue,” you say eventually. “I thought you’d stick with the gold theme.”

Apparently, this was not the answer he was looking for. “Anything else?”

“Well, it’s a lot smaller than I expected.”

His face falls, “Yes, it’s generally a lot more impressive when you go the other way.”

“I’m sure if I had, I’d be jumping for joy,” you say sarcastically. “Can we find some food now?”

The Doctor looks very disappointed, but concedes. “Right, yes. I’m pretty sure there’s a town that way. We should be able to find a nice market with some food there.” He sets off, leaving you no choice but to follow.

True to his word, you come across a town after a short walk. The streets are bustling with locals going to and fro, and you notice for the first time how high the sun is in the sky. “Doctor, what time is it now?”

He glances at his watch, “About a quarter to four.”

“Really?” you turn to him in surprise, “How long was I asleep for?”

“Quite a long time,” he says nonchalantly, “A couple of days, maybe? I was working on some maintenance things, hard to know how much time passes when I get stuck in.”

“Oh,” you say, because what else can you? “I guess that explains why I’m so hungry.”

He laughs, such a warm sound. You’re still not all that keen on him, but there’s something about his laugh that makes you dislike him just a little bit less. “Yes, I suppose it does explain that.”

You’ve made it to a town square now, lined with market stalls. The wave of heavenly smelling foods hits you like a truck and makes your mouth water.

“Lucky you crash-landed near such a good market, eh?” the Doctor rubs his hands together. “So, what do you want?”

You two wander about for a little while amongst the sellers, inspecting their wares. The Doctor takes far too many samples and earns a few dirty looks, but it seems anyone who glares at him for too long quickly becomes a target of his motor mouth. By the time you’ve finished poking around, he’s been acquainted with far too many people for your liking.

“Do you have to talk to everyone who makes eye contact with you?” you complain.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asks, “They’re all very interesting people. Well, most of them.”

“I’m not so sure,” you sulk. “I think people are generally overrated.”

“Have you decided what you want to eat?” He switches topics.

You blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “Bread dipped in wine.”

He pulls a face, “Interesting combo. Still, who am I to judge? I’ve certainly had odder.”

“I don’t think it’s that odd!” you snap as you approach a stall, “Lots of other people here are having it.” You get your food and manage to find a free rickety table to sit down at. “Try it.”

The Doctor does. He dips a chunk of the roll into the wine, and takes a bite. He spits it out immediately. “Oh, it’s horrible!” he sounds betrayed.

“It’s nice!” You defend it, “Maybe you’ve just got poor taste.”

“Well,” he raises his eyebrows, “It’s no fish fingers and custard.”

“What’s that?”

“Oh, I’ll have to serve you some time,” he winks, “It’s a real delicacy.” He takes another bite of bread, plain this time. He chews thoughtfully, staring into thin air, and then turns back to you. “So, why weren’t you impressed by the whole bigger-on-the-inside thing?”

You roll your eyes. “Doctor, it isn’t the first time I’ve seen space folded.”

He looks shocked and excited all at once. “It- it’s not?” he whispers.

“Hasn’t… hasn’t everyone?” You thought it was obvious, and were quite proud of yourself for remembering, but now you’re not so sure.

“Not a lot of people, no,” he says dubiously.

“I mean, that’s what it is, isn’t it? You’ve just folded space.”

“When you put it like that, it doesn’t sound half as exciting,” he crosses his arms. “You mean to tell me that in your life, you’ve seen a Time And Relative Dimension In Space-”

“A what?” you interrupt.

“A TARDIS. It’s a TARDIS. You’ve seen one before?”

“Oh,” you say, confused. “No, no, I don’t think so. That doesn’t sound familiar at all. What even is that?”

“It’s a time-travelling space ship.”

“What’s a space ship?”

“A- a spaceship?” he frowns, “That’s the bit you’re confused by?”

“Well, it didn’t look much like a boat.”

“It’s not,” he says slowly. He’s staring at you like you’re the strangest creature he’s ever seen. “It’s a machine that travels through space, up amongst the stars. And this one also travels in time.”

You almost choke on your bread. “Wow,” your eyes grow to the size of moons. “That’s incredible!”

“Now, that’s the reaction I was looking for,” he grins. “Yes, yes it is.” He cocks his head to one side, “So you know about folding space, but you don’t know what a spaceship is?”

“Is that not normal?” you ask worriedly.

“No, not all,” he shakes his head, but doesn’t take his sparkling eyes off you. “Still, normal’s boring. Weird keeps me on my toes!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you're enjoying this fic, feel free to drop me a kudos + comment - it really makes my day :) || Shoot me a message, ask or fic request on my Tumblr - https://fayoftheforest.tumblr.com


	5. Crashing

“Where are we going now?” you ask, as you struggle to match your pace with the Doctor. He’s a fast walker when he’s on a mission, and apparently he's on one now. His face had lit up halfway through your meal, and he’d whipped out a strange tablet-like gadget from his pocket and began typing furiously. Whatever it was he’d been doing, he had seemed very excited.

“We’re going back to the TARDIS,” the Doctor tells you. He walks faster, then notices you’re falling behind. “Do try to keep up!” he complains.

“Your legs are very long,” you grumble, “It’s an unfair advantage.” Besides, exerting this much effort is starting to make your head ache again.

He slows down slightly, but you still arrive back at the blue box out of breath.

“Why are we back here?” You ask as he throws open the door.

“Because,” he says ambiguously, beelining for the central control panel.

“Because what?”

“I’ve got an old friend I’d like you to meet. I need a second opinion on some things.”

“What things?” you ask suspiciously.

The Doctor’s gone silent, focused on adjusting dials and flicking switches, and all the while the hub is making very strange, almost angry noises. He’s murmuring nonsense to himself under his breath, and you have to ask twice more before he hears. “What? Oh, you’ll find out soon enough.” He waves his hand dismissively and resumes his work, brow furrowed.

“Why can’t you just tell me now?”

“Because, I’m concentrating!” he snaps, “The TARDIS has decided to throw a proper strop about travelling.” He places a hand on the centre and rubs it as if petting a dog. “What’s wrong, eh?” he says in a soft voice, “Why won’t you let us go?”

“Why are you talking as if it can hear you?”

“Because she can!”

“She?”

He whirls on you with an exasperated scowl. “Listen, I do not have time to explain the extremely complicated mechanics of a literal time machine, nor why something seems to have gone seriously wrong! So I’m going to tell you what’s going to happen right now: I am going to fix this, and you are going to shut the hell up!”

Well, the feeling of being yelled at is definitely one you’ve had before. The sickening sensation snakes into the pit of your stomach and settles like an old friend, digging its teeth in. You swallow hard and turn meekly to sit down on the stairs, and okay, maybe you’re trying not to cry, but after all you’ve been through, you’ll be damned if that man is the one to make you break down. You stare numbly down at your hands, willing your vision not to blur with tears. Thankfully, you succeed.

As you’re staring, you notice that there are rings of yellow embedded beneath your nails. You dig it out and find it smells weirdly like honey. Is that… beeswax? How did that get there?

“Aha!” A cry of victory from the Doctor interrupts your thoughts. He turns back to you with a shit-eating grin on his face as if you were his partner in crime, not someone he’d just shouted down. “Okay, are you ready?”

You’ve regained your composure, at least. You stand and move to his side. “Are we about to travel through time or space?”

“Both!” his eyes sparkle.

“Should I… hold on to something?”

“Oh, no,” he shrugs dismissively, “It’s always a smooth ride.” He flips a lever, and all hell breaks loose.

Utter hell. The lights flicker and flash, and the room shudders and shakes like the volcanoes of Pompeii have decided to rise again. There’s a terrible, horrible wheezing sound, like the breath of a dying man. But you aren’t paying attention to any of that. No, you’re far too preoccupied with the unfortunate fact that your skull is going to explode.

You let loose a bloodcurdling scream, and double over, clutching your head. “Doctor! What’s happening?”

The Doctor looks a little distracted himself, running about and adjusting dials as fast as lightning. “I don’t know!” he shouts back over the din, “Something’s making it very difficult to travel right now!”

The pressure inside you is mounting. “Make it stop! Please, Gods, make it stop!”

“It’s too late, we’ve gone too far to go back now!” His fast hands work faster.

It’s like there’s something gigantic trapped inside you, something that’s determined to get out. Something swelling. Your vision starts to dim - the pains just too much.

The Doctor glances back and notices you swaying on your feet. “No, hey, don’t pass out! We’re almost there, just a few moments more!”

“I can’t,” you sob, “I just can’t! It’s too much!”

He abandons the controls and turns his full attention to you. He puts his hands on your shoulders to steady you. His touch is electric. “What’s going on?”

“My head!” you scream, “I’m gonna- It’s going to- fuck, I’m going to die! It’s killing me, Doctor, I can feel it killing me!”

He shakes his head, “No, I will not let that happen.” A determined expression sets on his face. “I will never let that happen.” He moves his hands from your shoulders to your cranium, a thumb on each side of your forehead, but you can barely feel it.

You can’t feel anything except for the agony.

“Alright, try to stay still,” he orders, “I’m going to try something I probably shouldn’t.” He presses you to his chest. Golden light bursts from his hands, and encircles your head like a halo.

You feel it start to soak in. It’s the strangest sensation: like warm ice, it numbs your brain, and slowly the pain subsides to a dull throb.

The room has stopped flashing. Stopped shuddering. Stopped roaring. The only sound is you, crying quietly. The only movement is him, shaking as he holds you. Neither of you says anything for a while. You just stand there together. Just being alive.

“There, now,” he says softly. Always the one to break the silence first. “I told you you’d be alright, didn’t I?”

“What- what happened?” you ask horsley.

“I’m not entirely sure,” he murmurs, “But I know someone who might.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you're enjoying this fic, feel free to drop me a kudos + comment - it really makes my day :) || Shoot me a message, ask or fic request on my Tumblr - https://fayoftheforest.tumblr.com


	6. Searching

It’s a welcome relief to step on solid ground again. 

The Doctor’s still in the TARDIS, surveying the wreckage. He lets loose a low whistle. “Yowza! She is not looking too hot.”

“Do you tend to say Yowza?” you wrinkle up your nose.

“Don’t make fun of me!” he jabs a finger at you playfully, taking a step outside, and closing the doors behind him. “You know, if it weren’t for me-” he stops himself short, deciding it’s better he doesn’t finish that sentence. “Well, it’s a good thing there is me.”

You cast a sweeping glance around you. You’re in an unfamiliar grey complex, with floors, walls and ceiling made of entirely concrete. There are straight, white lines painted on the ground, and in between each, hulking metal objects are stationed. The blue box, however, is not parked nearly as neatly. “Doctor, where are we?”

He sticks his tongue out, and waggles it about. He tilts his head to the side, then nods. “At least we landed in the right place in the end - well, close enough: Twenty-first century. Edinburgh. Car park.”

That answers exactly none of your questions. You stare at him blankly. 

He returns the look. “Which part of that did you not understand?”

“Where’s Edinburgh?”

“Scotland.”

“Where’s that?”

“Earth.”

“Yes, I guessed that. What’s a car park?”

“Do you… do you not know what cars are?”

You don’t.

He sighs, “Right, I’m getting the idea you don’t know much of anything.”

“That’s not fair! I know a lot of things.”

“Oh, really?” he raises his eyebrows.

“I just… can’t remember a lot of it. But I’m sure I do.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” he offers you a warm smile, a little tentatively, “Knowing’s not the be-all-end-all anyway. Come on, I’ll explain as we walk.”

Well, what you lack in knowledge, you soon make up for by being a quick learner. As you weave your way through the streets of Edinburgh, he fills you in on life in this bizarre future. You’re particularly interested in the technological advancements and inventions, a subject which he’s happy to oblige you on. To your delight, you find you’re able to comprehend a lot of the concepts he’s talking about.

After a while, he comes to a halt, outside a great, stone building. “Here we are!”

“And where’s that?”

“The University of Edinburgh.”

“Why are we here?”

“I told you,” he says, pushing open the doors, “To find an old friend.” 

“That’s still not really an answer,” you complain as you follow.

But he doesn’t offer a different one. You two weave your way through a mess of corridors and haze of students, around corners, up and down stairs. It’s becoming increasingly obvious that the Doctor has absolutely no idea where you’re going exactly. 

You have to stop after you notice you’ve passed the second floor bathroom for the third time now. “Doctor, wait. Where are you actually trying to get to?”

“I… I don’t specifically know,” he admits. “I need to find River Song’s office, and I know it’s about here somewhere.” He shrugs, “We’ll find it eventually.”

Well, you’d quite like to not die of old age in these hallways, so you decide it’s time for a change in command. “Let me lead this time,” you say.

“Alright,” he says, unsure, “But I’ve been to hundreds of planets, thousands of cities. I think I’ve got plenty enough experience to navigate one building, even if it is a bit of a maze.”

“Just, trust me,” you step to the side and close your eyes for a second, concentrating on the name he told you. River Song. Song. Would that be Professor Song? You open your eyes, “This way.” You set off confidently up the stairs.

“How do you know?” he follows close behind.

“I just do,” you shrug. “This way feels right.”

And it is right. Within five minutes, you’ve led him to a room marked “Office 4E - Professor Song, Archaeology.” There’s a sticky note stuck on below it, with the scrawled message: “Gone to get lunch, back in 5!”

“Well, how about that,” the Doctor says, impressed, “Looks like experience isn’t everything.”

“I guess I’ve got a knack for navigating labyrinths,” you smile to yourself, “And who says I don’t have experience at it?” It certainly feels like you’ve made your way through mazes before. Something about it makes you feel… safe. Protected.

“Well, I guess we’d better go in and wait for her there,” he barges in like he owns the place.

It’s a pretty nice office, if a little cluttered. Dark wooden bookshelves line two of the walls, filled with a mix of ancient-looking books, textbooks, and files. The wall opposite the door has a great big window set into it, looking out onto the courtyard below. The final wall has a large chalkboard hanging on it, and a solid oak desk in front of it, cluttered with papers and folders.

“I hate waiting,” he grumbles to himself. “I don’t like being at the mercy of time.” 

You suppose it’s usually the other way around for him. 

The Doctor strolls to the chalkboard and picks up a white piece of chalk. He begins doodling absentmindedly, a strange circle, with smaller circles, dots and lines inside. It’s a simple kind of beautiful.

“What’s that?”

“It’s Gallifreyan scripture,” he says, tongue between his teeth as he concentrates on getting it just right.

“Where’s Gallifrey?” you ask, “Is it in Scotland as well?”

He laughs at this. “No, just a little bit further than that.” He reaches for both of the chalkboard erasers, shortening a few of the lines and cleaning up the edges.

“What does it say, then? The thing you’ve written.”

“Home.” His countenance is strangely sad, and you can’t tell if he suddenly looks this way, or if he’s always had that expression, just tucked away.

“Oh.” You’re not really sure how to react. You reach over and put a hand gently on his arm, a little awkwardly.

He gazes at you, then looks down at the two erasers in his hands, as if they’ll give him the answers he’s looking for. They don’t.

The door opens and there's a chuckle from behind you. “Well, look at this: the Doctor, arriving early, for once.”

You turn, and there she is: River Song. Gorgeous, with full lips and striking grey-green eyes, dressed in a white shirt and corduroy trousers, and with absolutely fantastic hair.

“There’s a first time for everything.” the Doctor’s face lights up. “I’ve brought a new friend!” He gestures to you, clapping the chalkboard erasers together, sending up an intoxicating cloud of white smoke.

It tickles your nose furiously, and makes you sneeze, several times.

“Sorry!” the Doctor says sheepishly, but he’s interrupted by a sharp gasp from River.

“Oh my God!”

You rub your nose on the back of your hand, and open your eyes. Oh. There it is: that cloud of golden light, the same thing that filled your room when you woke up. The same thing the Doctor produced, to help your head. If he can make it just fine, then why are the Doctor and River staring at you like you’ve performed some sort of miracle.

“Well,” the Doctor grins, brighter than the sun. “That was unexpected.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you're enjoying this fic, feel free to drop me a kudos + comment - it really makes my day :) || Shoot me a message, ask or fic request on my Tumblr - https://fayoftheforest.tumblr.com


	7. Thinking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a double-length chapter to celebrate 200 hits! I'm so glad you seem to be enjoying this so far. 
> 
> \- Fay x

“What? What is that thing?” you stare at the light, quickly dispersing now.

The Doctor completely ignores your question. “Of course - the room!” He throws down the erasers in triumph.“I thought there had been some sort of leak, from the TARDIS, but it must have been- it means that- you did it! You released it all!”

“What are you talking about?” you persist.

He looks at you, that stupid grin still on his face. “Come on, you must know what regeneration energy is!”

“Well, obviously, I don’t.”

“Doesn’t it feel at all familiar?” His smile falters. He leans in, looking deeply into your eyes, first one, then the other. “The name? The light? Any of it?”

You look back at him, and even though you know the truth, you still feel oddly guilty when you say it, like you’re letting him down somehow. “No. I’ve never heard of that before, I’m certain.”

“Okay,” River takes your hand in her right, and the Doctor’s in her left, “Let’s just all calm down, and start from the beginning.” She pauses, “Sorry, who are you, exactly?”

“I don’t know,” you say. “I don’t know who I am.”

She looks a little taken aback by this, and turns to the Doctor for clarification.

“Don’t look at me,” he puts his hands up, “I don’t know either.”

River rolls her eyes, “Well, that’s helpful.”

“Hey, that’s what we came here to figure out!”

“Okay then, just… just start from the beginning.”

“Right,” the Doctor bounces to the chalkboard. You’ve noticed he does that when he’s excited. Bounce. “Let’s write down what we know.” He picks up a piece of chalk, but River snatches it from his hand. “Oi!”

“Your handwriting’s atrocious, sweetie,” she elbows him out the way, “You dictate, I’ll write.” River divides the large board into two sections: “What We Know” and “What We Don’t”.

“That’s not a complete sentence,” the Doctor complains, “It should be ‘What We Don’t Know’.”

River gives him a withering look. “Who’s the professor here, you or me?”

“I don’t see what-”

“Ah ah, no. Who’s the professor, you or me?”

He sighs, and crosses his arms. “You,” he says sulkily.

“Exactly,” she jabs her chalk at him, “I think I’ve got plenty of practice writing on a blackboard, thank you very much.”

The Doctor rubs at the white mark she left on his coat, before muttering under his breath, “If only you taught grammar instead of archaeology.”

“I heard that!”

“Can you two please stop bickering?” you interject, exasperated. “Tell us what you know, Doctor. From the beginning.”

He concedes. “Right. So. From the beginning.” He begins to pace the length of the room. “TARDIS gets dragged through time and space to the coast of Crete, 500 BCE. They fall out of the sky. I catch them, then-”

“What?” River squawks, spinning from her post to stare at you.

“Yes, well, what can I say?” the Doctor adjusts his bowtie smugly, “I’m a good catch.”

“I meant the falling part. Where did they fall from?”

“Yes, well, that’s sort of what we’re trying to figure out,” the Doctor responds curtly before you even have a chance to open your mouth. “Look, if you’re going to interrupt me every time you’re confused, we’ll be here all day. Let’s save questions till the end, eh?”

River nods reluctantly.

“So, they fall, I catch them. They start screaming, ‘ooh, my head, my head!’” he puts his hands to his head in a crude imitation of you, one which you do not appreciate. “They pass out, so I take them into the TARDIS, give them some paracetamol, whatever.”

He looks to the board, where River’s written down “Fallen, Head hurts, Paracetamol,” in bullet points.

“Don’t bother with that last one,” he tells her dismissively, before launching straight back in. “So, when they wake up a few days later, the room’s filled with regeneration energy, and they don’t remember anything at all about who they are, and how they got here. After a little wander about, we decide to come to visit you here, only thing’s end up going a bit wrong.”

“Wrong how?” River interrupts.

“I am obviously getting there,” the Doctor retorts. “Wrong, as in TARDIS starts having a meltdown, and their headache comes back for a reprise. Anyway, I expended a little regeneration energy-”

“Doctor, you shouldn’t have!” River scolds him.

“Yes, well it was either that, or their brain explode into a million tiny pieces. Can you imagine the mess?”

She purses her lips, “Fine, continue.”

“So, thanks to me, they do not, in fact, die, and we arrive here with our brains safe and sound inside our skulls. The end.” He finishes with a flourish and inspects River’s careful notes. “Oh, also they don’t know what a carpark is.”

“Is that everything?” River asks you. “Have you learnt anything else about yourself since then?”

You chew on the inside of your cheek as you think. “I’m good with mazes,” you say, unsure.

“Anything else? Even a tiny thing?”

“Um, I had beeswax underneath my fingernails, and I don’t know how that got there. Is that… is that helpful?”

“What?” the Doctor looks a little surprised, “Why didn’t you tell me that?”

“It didn’t seem that important,” you shrug.

“Of course it’s important! Everything’s important.”

“Right, I think I’ve got everything down,” River makes some final additions to the board.

“Oh!” The Doctor snaps his fingers, “I’ve just remembered one more thing: when I first asked you who you were, you say you were… something- no, no, you say you were everything.” He stops pacing, and faces you. “‘I am everything’, that’s what you said. Could that be your name?”

You try it out in your mouth. “Everything. Everything. Ev-ry-thing.” You shake your head, “No, that’s definitely not my name. Doesn’t feel right at all.”

River has been staring at the board, lost in thought. “Doctor,” she says, “Is it possible that they only released regeneration energy because you put it in them?”

All at once, the Doctor’s face falls. He doesn’t say anything for a moment.

“If that were the case,” she continues, “then they wouldn’t be a timelord, would they?”

“A what?” you ask.

“Like me,” the Doctor says softly, sadly. “You wouldn’t be like me.” He shakes his head, clearing his thoughts. “No, that’s not possible, though. I didn’t transfer the energy to them, I just used it up. Plus, how would they have filled the room, before they crashed?”

“But When Time Lords exhale energy, it dissipates pretty quickly, so how could it have filled a whole room?” she counters, “It must have been a leak, from the heart of the TARDIS, like you said.”

“But that never happens. The heart doesn’t just leak! Once TARDISes are built with the energy inside them, it’s impossible to get it out again. They themselves must have released it, they’ve got to be a Time Lord!” He looks at you, eyes almost pleading. “They have to be.”

“Well, there’s only one way to find out,” River puts down her chalk and wipes her dusty hands on her trousers. She opens the bottom drawer of her desk and rummages around, before pulling out a strange object.

“What’s that?” you ask.

“It’s a stethoscope,” she says. “It means I can listen to your heartbeat.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“To check if there’s two. Time Lords have two hearts.”

“Oh. Why would you keep something like that in your desk?”

She looks at the Doctor, “So I can make sure it’s him, if he changes his face again.”

Well, that makes exactly zero sense, but then again, what does?

River moves to you, but the Doctor steps in between.

“Wait,” he says, “I want to do it.”

She presses it into his hands, but doesn’t let go. A silent moment passes between them, and in that beat, you can suddenly tell how much this woman really, truly cares for the Doctor. You realise that part of her doesn’t want to know the answer to what you are, and part of him doesn’t either. How nice it would be, to stay safe inside the ‘what ifs’ for the rest of time. Still, she lets him take it.

“Alright,” he puts two of the ends in his ears, “Unbutton your shirt.”

“Excuse me?” you say indignantly.

“Relax, it just has to touch your skin, or I can’t hear the pulse properly,” he rolls his eyes like you’re being silly, but heat still rises in his cheeks. You don’t move, and so he takes a hesitant step towards you. He reaches slowly for your chest. Hands steady. Nimble fingers undo a few buttons. “You don’t have to hold your breath,” he smiles gently at you, “It’s alright.”

You hadn’t realised you had been, but there’s something about his electric touch that makes you stop dead in your tracks. You let out a breath, and try to steady your breathing.

He brings the cylindrical base up, and presses it on the left side of your rising and falling chest. You flinch as it makes contact. “Sorry,” he says.

“It’s cold.”

“I know.” He closes his eyes, focusing on the quick, rhythmic sound thumping in his ears. “Well, you’re definitely alive,” he winks, “That’s promising.” He shifts it to the other side. Bites his lip in concentration. After a minute, he removes it, and takes a few self-conscious steps back.

“Well?” your voice is scarcely a whisper.

“Nothing,” he says quietly. “Just one heart.” His expression is unreadable.

“So, what does that mean?”

“It means, we’ve still got a whole lot of figuring out to do.” River’s strong, unwavering silence cuts the tension like a knife. “Let’s get cracking.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you're enjoying this fic, feel free to drop me a kudos + comment - it really makes my day :) || Shoot me a message, ask or fic request on my Tumblr - https://fayoftheforest.tumblr.com


	8. Planning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!! :) 
> 
> Sorry for my impromptu hiatus guys! College started, and oh boy do my teachers not hold back on the work. Also, I started getting these bad headaches whenever I stared at a screen for too long, but it turns out I just need new glasses haha. Soon I'll be back to my regularly scheduled programming (assuming I can keep on top of my mountains of homework T-T)
> 
> Anyway, we mad it to 400 hits whilst I was gone, so thanks for that! Also big thanks to those leaving bookmarks/comments/kudos, that helps me reach more people and motivates me to actually try to finish a story for once lmao :)
> 
> Okay, onwards to the part you're actually here for...

The Doctor does not look like he’s in the mood to “get cracking”. He looks… sad. All at once, the wind’s been taken out of his sails.

“Not a Time Lord,” he murmurs to himself. He leans against the edge of the desk and gazes out the window, eyes unfocused. “Not a Time Lord.”

“Oh, sweetie,” River wraps a comforting arm around his shoulder. He seems to deflate into her embrace, withering like a cut flower.

You want to say something. You need to say something. For some reason, you can’t stand to see him like this. When he gets that sad look behind his eyes, it’s like he’s a different person. You want the old Doctor back. That loud, annoying man who lights up every time you do something he doesn’t understand.

“Okay, so I’m not a Time Lord,” you muster all your pep and optimism into your voice, “But I’m definitely not… from around here, right?”

He looks up at you slowly, and tilts his head, like a bird. “No,” he says, unsure, “You’re not.”

“River,” you say with more confidence than you have a right to have, “Write that on the board.”

River seems to pick up on your goal almost immediately. She knows you’ve got to get him moving again, get him motivated, get him hooked. Somewhere inside that head of his is the capacity to figure out your truth. He can find it, if only he can think hard enough. “Not from round here,” River says as she writes, chalk tapping on the board like an out of tune clock.

The Doctor watches her write, then rolls his eyes. “No, not like-” He huffs, walks over and snatches the chalk, before adding an “a” to the start of “round”, so that it now reads “Not from around here”. The a stands out somewhat awkwardly, his scrawly print a spectacle compared to her neat cursive.

You exchange a knowing grin with River. You’ve got him on his feet: that’s a start.

“Alright,” you push on, “So, how do we figure out where I am from, then?”

“Well, you fell into Crete,” River says, “So it’s just a matter of figuring out where you fell from. Doctor, what sort of readings did you get from the area?”

“Um…” the Doctor frowns, wracking his brain, before recalling the answer. “Oh, I didn’t take any.”

Well, he might as well have admitted to growing a full pair of feathery wings and flapping about a bit, from the look on River’s face. “None?” she gasps, “Not at all? You mean you didn’t whip out that Sonic Screwdriver of yours even once?”

“Whip out his what?” you squawk.

“This thingy,” the Doctor pulls out a metallic cylinder with a glowing light at the end and presses a button. It emits a mechanical buzz. “And no, I didn’t. I got- I got distracted.”

River’s eyes flick between him and you. She raises an eyebrow judgmentally, “How so?”

“Not like that!” He uses his sonic screwdriver to poke in her direction, irritated. “The TARDIS needed some maintenance done, so I worked on that for a while, whilst they were asleep. We only actually went out for about an hour or so.”

“Well then,” River puts down her chalk, “I suggest our first course of action is to get some data from the crash site back in Crete.”

Much as you’d love to return to the island, the idea of getting back into that gods-forsaken box to get there fills you with a sickening dread. “Oh.”

The Doctor notes the colour draining from your face. His eyebrows knit together in concern, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea, given our fun little crisis on the way here. The TARDIS took a bit of a beating during our journey, and I’ve got a little theory that it had something to do with trying to transport you.”

“Me? Why?”

“I don’t know. At least, not yet. But whatever it was, it wasn’t just a simple malfunction, I’m sure of that much. The way she acted, it was as if something was weighing her down, making it next to impossible to shift. Whoever you are, you were not built for time travel.”

Well, you can’t help but feel a little offended by that, but at the same time, at least you won’t be getting back in there any time soon. “So, what do we do then? Those readings could be important.”

“I’ll fix up the TARDIS, well enough for a solo flight there and back again.”

“How long will that take?”

“Something that complicated?” he whistles low, “Ooh, I don’t know.”

“Oh, come now, Doctor,” River waves her hand dismissively, “I’m sure I could easily fix it by tomorrow.” She starts to stroll nonchalantly across the room. “Of course,” she pauses pointedly, back turned to him, “I am the real expert on the TARDIS here.”

The Doctor stands up a little taller and straightens his bow-tie. “It’ll be all ship-shape and Bristol fashion by tonight.”

River winks at you. “Works every time,” she whispers.

“I’m sure you’ll do a wonderful job,” you reassure the Doctor. “The TARDIS will be back on her feet in no time, thanks to you.”

He smiles at you with the radiance of a thousand suns. The intensity of his enthusiasm always takes you aback, but you can’t help but return the smile, if a little cautiously.

“While you’re hard at work, sweetie, I’d like to take the time to run some medical diagnostics on them,” River says. “The university’s got some tip-top equipment, and Mel in the Medics department owes me a favour.”

“Good idea,” the Doctor agrees.

“I’ll just give her a call,” River pulls her phone out of her pocket. She taps at the screen, and you peer over to watch what she’s doing, mesmerised by the advanced technology. She catches you staring.

“How does it-”

“The Doctor will explain,” she dismisses quickly. Her phone starts to vibrate, making an unusual buzzing sound. “That’ll be Mel,” she says, “I’ll just be a minute.” She steps out into the hall.

You and the Doctor are alone again. Somehow, with River gone, the room seems so much more empty. So much more quiet. Neither of you speak. 

You begin to lose yourself in your thoughts. What’s going to happen once the Doctor goes back to Crete? Will it be long before he returns? The idea of being without him is utterly, utterly terrifying, but even more so is the thought of what he might find. Who are you really? What if who you turn out to be isn’t someone you like at all? Like an avalanche, you are swamped by your anxieties, smothering and suffocating. Panic starts to rise. Each breath becomes shorter and sharper.

“Do you want me to explain how phones work?” The Doctor, blissfully ignorant to your mounting dread, interrupts.

“No thanks,” you respond, trying to keep your voice light and airy, “I’m alright.” Your voice does not come out light and airy. It comes out strained and tight. Your vision blurs with the tears you’re fighting desperately to keep back.

“Hey, are you okay?” He moves closer to you. 

You don’t respond. You can’t. 

“What is it?” His voice has dropped an octave, gentle and husky. “What’s wrong?”

You can feel his presence next to you, so close. The side of his finger brushes yours gently, a small gesture of support. Part of you wants to grab his hand, squeeze tight, and never let go. You’re almost scared to look at him, for fear of what you’ll find when you do. What you’ll see. You keep your eyes firmly fixed on the floor.

“It’ll be alright, you know,” he says, when you don’t say anything. “You’ll get through this. We’ll get through this. We’ll figure it out, and when we do, it’ll be okay.”

There’s something about the care in his tone that makes you feel like maybe it will be. Maybe it will be alright. You dare to glance up, and your gaze meets with his. 

He looks at you with such tenderness. His eyes search yours, looking for the silent answer you’re not giving. He ever so slightly bites his lip.

All at once, you get the swift, sudden urge to kiss him. The compulsion flares up in the pit of your stomach, so strong and lurching that you let out a soft gasp.

“What?” he asks, and like the fool he is, he leans in closer, so of course you do too, until you’re barely an inch from his face. Your eyes, barely an inch from his. Your lips. His lips. 

“Tell me what’s going on in your head,” he says, in no more than a whisper. His eyes flick down to your mouth, just for a moment. “Tell me what you’re thinking. What are you thinking, right now?”

Maybe you will tell him. Maybe you should tell him. Or, maybe you should show him. Maybe--

River walks in. “Sorry about that,” she says, “Mel does like to go on and on and on.” Her fingers are flying across her screen. She doesn’t look up.

You take a large step back, and snap out of whatever stupor you were under.

“She kept talking about her kids,” River pulls a face, “And whatever cutesy trouble they’re getting up to in school at the moment. Ugh.”

You’re reeling, coming up for air, fog quickly dissipating. You? Kiss that man? Absurd! He may be your ticket back home - wherever that may be - but he’s also irritating, immature and a bit of a dick. Not exactly Desirable Number One. You pull yourself together and put on a casual expression. “Well, did you get what you were looking for?” you ask River, hasty to move on from your momentary lapse in judgement.

“Yep! We’ve got the all clear for the med stuff,” she finally looks up from her phone, and shoots you a thumbs up.

“Great,” you respond. You look to the Doctor, who apparently hasn’t got the memo that whatever just almost happened between you two is over, and is very much going to stay that way. 

He’s just staring at you, dumbfounded, mouth hanging open like a fish. 

“Doctor, haven’t you got a TARDIS to fix?” you prompt him.

He blinks rapidly. “I- I- I, uh…” He gives you a questioning look, which you do not return.

“Well, you’d better get to it then.”

He exhales sharply, but whether it’s out of frustration or surprise, you don’t know. “I guess I better had.” And at that, he’s gone.

“That’s the Doctor,” River chuckles to herself as the door swings back and forth on its hinges, “Never one for goodbyes.” She nods to it, “We should get going ourselves.”

“Alright,” you do your best to push all thoughts of the Doctor to the back of your brain. Whatever madness overtook you, it's gone, and it won’t be coming back any time soon.

“Off we go then,” River leads the way. “I’ll explain to you what an MRI machine is on the way there.”

“What’s that?

Her face splits into a grin. “Oh, I am about to blow your mind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you're enjoying this fic, feel free to drop me a kudos + comment - it really makes my day :) || Shoot me a message, ask or fic request on my Tumblr - https://fayoftheforest.tumblr.com


	9. Remembering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betcha thought I was gone for good! Nooooope, I'm back, baby >:) Only two more instalments to go after this one! I'll finish this god damn fic if it kills me. Enjoy the chapter...

By the time you reach the med department, you’re practically hopping with excitement.

River smiles at you, as she scans her card on the reader outside a door with the sign MRI SCANNER. “I should warn you, it’s unlikely to be as thrilling as you think it will be,” she says wryly.

You highly doubt that. A machine, which can create pictures of the inside of your brain? Mind boggling. Absolutely incredible.

River swings open the door. The room is relatively small and bare, with a few cupboards, and a second door in the wall opposite to you. But the main event is, of course, a ginormous, white, tube-like… thingy.

“It’s bigger than I thought it would be,” you say.

“It’s gonna be a hell of a lot noisier, too.” River walks to the machine and begins keying in numbers. “If you’ve got any jewelry on, or a watch, you’ll have to take that off.”

You’ve not - you know you’ve not - but you check just to make sure. “Nope.”

“Oh, or a wig.”

“A wig? Why?”

“Some contain traces of metals. It’ll interfere with the scan.”

You tug on your hair. “Ouch! Definitely attached.”

“Excellent,” River says. She pulls out a wedge-shaped cushion from a cupboard at the back of the room and puts it on the bed-like stretch. “So, just lie down for me, sweety. Slide your head up inside- yes, that’s it, like that. Hands on your stomach. That cushion is for your knees, if you- yep, you got it. Now, I’m gonna head into the other room, so I can use the computer without it interfering with the signals. I’ll still be able to see and hear you at all times. You just lie there and try to relax, focus on the rhythm of your breath, if that helps. Don’t fidget or it’ll ruin it. This could take a while, an hour, at least. Any questions?”

“Lots,” you say, “Yeah, quite a lot, actually.”

“Great,” River nods, “Save ‘em until after the show.” With that, she disappears through the door.

A minute or two later, River’s voice comes on over the intercom. “Okay, sweety. Ready to go?”

You take a deep breath. “Yeah,” you say. “Yes, I’m ready.”

“Okay, then. Hold on tight!” River says, before hastily adding, “Don't actually hold on, though. Just stay in that position.”

“Yeah, I got that.”

And so it begins. With a whirr and a clunk, it starts up. Hey, this isn’t so bad, you think to yourself. Maybe you could actually-

WHUB WHUB WHUB WHUB WHUB

Okay, so yes, maybe you do shriek at the sudden, earsplitting noise that encloses you like a coffin. At first, you’re cast back to your traumatic time on the TARDIS, and assume that this must be something to do with you. Great, so now you’re incompatible with TARDISes and MRI machines?

Then, River’s voice comes on. “Sorry about this, sweety! I did warn you it would be loud.”

“Loud doesn’t even begin to cover it,” you moan, straining your voice so you can be heard over the cacophony. “This is decidedly less enjoyable than I thought it would be!”

“Just hang tight,” River says.

And so you hang. For the next hour and a half, you lie there, under unrelenting audio-attack, braving the irregular blaring wail as the scanner gets to work. You try to relax, to steady yourself, but the environment isn’t exactly ideal. You remember what River told you: focus on your breathing. You bring your attention to the way your soft stomach moves up and down, and though this helps, things still aren’t much less unpleasant. As you wait for this nightmare to be over, one thought rises to the front of your mind, and stays there, right until the end.

I wish the Doctor were here.

But he isn’t. So you stick it out alone.

And finally, after what feels like a lifetime, it stops. Silence never sounded so sweet. You lie there, panting, and in a small voice, ask, “Can I get out now?”

You hear the door swing open. “Yes, dear. You’re all done.”

You gingerly slide out and sit up, head spinning. “That was… That was intense.”

River wraps her arms around you in a gentle but reassuring hug. “You were so brave.”

You snort, “Don’t patronise me.” Still, you let her hold you. Let her be the one to break the embrace.

“I know what will cheer you up,” she says. “How would you like to see some cross-sections of your brain?”

You would very much like that. 

River leads you into the other room, filled with a number of computers, monitors and charts. “Take a seat,” she gestures to the empty desk chair next to hers.

You sit, and to your delight find that this chair is incredibly spinny. You take a moment to rotate a full 360 degrees, a grin plastered on your face.

“Technology sure is magnificent,” River says, probably sarcastically, but you agree anyway. “Alright, let's have a look, then.” She types and taps at her keyboard.

You peer excitedly at the screen, and yes, there it is. A brain. Yours, apparently.

River squints at the monitor. “What the hell?” she murmurs to herself. She begins clicking through page after page, frown deepening her brow.

“What? What’s wrong?”

River sucks her teeth. “There must be something wrong with the machine,” she sighs. “This scan was supposed to light up the most active areas of your brain.”

“So?”

“So, why is it, then, that every single piece of your brain is lit up?”

“Oh.” You take a closer look at the screen. “Maybe… maybe I just think a lot.”

“I’m sure you’re very clever, but not to this extent. It’s literally impossible to think to that extent.”

You remember what the Doctor told you had happened, when you first fell to Earth. How much your head had hurt. And again, on the TARDIS, how it felt like there was something inside, fighting to get out. “River,” you say slowly, “What if it isn’t broken? What if… what if- if it’s true. Then-”

“It could explain the pain you’ve been experiencing,” River catches your drift, but is not fully convinced. “Yes, maybe. And, if we’ve established you’re not a normal human, then these results might not be as outlandish.”

You nod, “So this is helpful, then?”

“I don’t know,” River reviews the results. “Even the most alien of all aliens wouldn’t have this much brain activity. If I were to take a scan of the Doctor’s mind himself, it wouldn’t even be a fraction of what yours is right now.”

“So you’re saying I’m cleverer than the Doctor, then?” You can’t help but grin to yourself. “I cannot wait to break the news.”

River is not as enthused. “Darling, this isn’t healthy. Something like this can’t be sustainable for one body to uphold. Whatever this is that’s happening, it’s killing you. In fact, it’s a miracle that you haven’t dropped dead already.”

“Oh.” The colour and mirth drains from your face.

River turns to look at you. She tilts your face gently to look at her, and gazes deeply into your eyes. “The question is, if your brain is so strong,” she murmurs, “then why can’t you remember a thing?”

\---

River has led to yet another small white room. “I’m just going to do some physical examinations, now,” she says, “It’s possible that the overexion of your neurons has led to some other side effects in your body.” She begins opening drawers and cupboards in her search for the right tools.

You’re sitting on what looks like a metal bed, with a long strip of waxy paper covering it, swinging your legs back and forth over the edge. “Is this going to be as awful as the brain scan?” you ask impatiently. 

River pulls out what she’d been looking for - a stethoscope, similar to the one before. “Don’t worry, sweety,” she says, “You’ve survived the worse.” 

You eye the stethoscope up suspiciously, still not ready to let your guard down. “Haven’t we moved on from the whole one-heart-only ordeal?”

“Yes, but I want to check your actual heart rate,” River says, slipping the ice cold metal end inside your shirt. “See if it’s noticeably higher than most.” She listens for a moment, tongue in her teeth in concentration. “Huh,” she says.

“What?” you ask worriedly, “Is it bad?”

“No,” she shrugs, “It’s perfectly normal.”

Next, she straps a grey plastic band around your arm. “Alright, I’m going to take your blood pressure.” She squeezes a small black ball attached to a tube, and at once the band begins to inflate. 

You suck in air sharply as it reaches its peak, and though upon your inspection of your arm nothing is left but a slight red mark, it still kind of hurt.

River peers at the numbers on the machine and wrinkles up her nose. “Normal again.” She turns to you, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were a perfectly average human being.” She sounds almost disappointed.

“How do you know all this stuff?” you ask, as River takes out a comically small hammer to test your reflexes of your legs. “About blood pressure, and brain scans?”

“I wanted to be a doctor while I was in school,” she says, tapping your knee with the mallet. It jumps involuntarily, just as it should. “I spent a lot of time mooning over text books. Nice to know it’s not all gone to waste now, I suppose.”

“So what put you off, then? From pursuing that dream, I mean.”

River doesn’t look up. “When you start travelling, there’s only really room for one Doctor in the TARDIS. I decided on archaeology because I figured it would come in handy in our adventures.”

“You travelled with the Doctor?” you ask, impressed. “When?”

“Oh, I met him a long, long time ago,” River smiles, bittersweet. “I was so young. So impressionable.” She shakes her head, “Those were the good old days.”

“So why did you stop?”

River sighs. She looks at you, but it’s as if she doesn’t really see you. Like she’s looking back, into the past, at the woman she once was. “He goes too fast for me,” she says quietly. “I could only keep up for so long.”

“Oh,” you say. “That’s sort of… sad.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” she begins putting her instruments away. “I like my life here now. It’s easier to handle. I don’t almost die as much as I used to. And I always knew he’d come back, eventually.” She turns and winks at you, “He’s impossible to satiate, that one.”

You consider the implications of this statement as River scrawls a few things down in a pad of lined paper, probably to add to the chalkboard when you reconvene.

“Ooh!” she snaps her fingers, as if a lightbulb has just lit up over her curly head.

“What?”

“I wonder if the overactivity would have any effect on your spine,” River muses. “If this was something you’ve had since birth, it definitely could have had some sort of effect on your development.”

Well, your spine certainly feels pretty normal, but then you’ve not a very clear frame of reference as to what an abnormal spine would feel like anyway. “I don’t know,” you admit.

“Do you mind if I take a look?” River asks.

“Like… like cut me open?” you flinch.

River laughs, “God, no, sweety. A quick peek at your back will be good enough.”

You relax a little. No spine slicing today, then. Jolly good. “Be my guest,” you manage a smile.

River moves towards you. She makes light work of the buttons on your shirt. Her fingers brush your shoulder ever so slightly as she slides the top off. “If you could just lie down on your stomach, so I can get a good look.”

You do, and as soon as she can see, she actually gasps.

“What?” you ask, panicked. “What is it?”

“Oh… oh, sweety,” River murmurs. “What on Earth happened to you?”

You try to twist to get a good look, but the thing with being human is swivelling your head 180 degrees is both painful and impossible. “What can you see?” you groan.

“Scars,” River breaths in horror. “No, not scars - burns. Red, raw burns. All down your back.” She lifts a hand, and ever so gently, traces the edge of one with her fingertip. “They seem to be concentrated in a split on either side of your spine.”

“It doesn’t hurt like a burn,” you say. “In fact, it doesn’t hurt at all. I would never have noticed if you’d not looked.”

“Strange,” River responds. “They look relatively fresh. Maybe a few days old, at the most.”

“It must have happened right before I fell, then.” You’ve got a sickening feeling slinking into the bottom of your tummy, even though you have no idea why. You stare numbly at your hands, because in this position, there’s not really anywhere else too look. You pick at a jagged fingernail as River begins writing more notes, when an idea strikes you. “Ah! Bee’s wax!”

“Pardon?” River looks over to you.

“The wax, the wax I found under my fingernails. It had to come from somewhere, right? Well, what if these are wax burns?”

River cracks a delighted smile at this. “Ooh, you are a clever one, aren’t you?”

Well, you like to think so.

\---

The Doctor doesn’t get back until half eleven. 

You and River are sitting in her office, gorging yourselves on a packet of jammy dodgers she had in her desk, when her phone rings. “Hello?” she answers. Pauses. Laughs. “Right, stay where you are. I’ll send them to come find you. See you in a minute.” She hangs up.

“Who was that?” you ask curiously.

“The Doctor,” she smirks, “He’s got lost in the corridors again, can’t find my office.”

You heave yourself to your feet. “Did he give any clues as to where he might be?”

“He said he was ‘outside a room with a lot of books.’”

“Well, that’s extremely helpful,” you roll your eyes.

“Why don’t you put your navigational intuition to the test?”

It takes you a whopping eight minutes to find the Doctor, a feat of which you’re quite impressed with. Somehow, the dark makes it even easier to find things, because it’s easier to focus on your instincts. It’s as if your gut has a map that your mind doesn’t, so all you have to do is go where it feels right. You find the Doctor wandering the dark corridors aimlessly, peering into obviously empty classrooms. “You know, you were told to stay put,” you scold, flicking on the light, and he jumps.

“You shouldn’t just sneak up on people like that,” he scowls. 

“Aw, did I frighten you?” you pout patronisingly, “I’m so terribly sorry. I’ll be sure to announce my presence wherever I go from now on.”

He pulls a face at you. “That would be great, thanks.”

“Come on, then. This way.” You start the journey back to River.

“Hang on,” the Doctor stops, so you reluctantly come back to meet him, “have you two been eating biscuits without me?”

“Wh-- yes…” you squint at him, “how did you know?”

The Doctor grins devilishly at you. He reaches over and brushes gently at the corner of your mouth. “You’ve got crumbs on your face.”

“Oh.” 

You start walking again, and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand quickly, praying to the Gods that the low lighting in these hallways means he can’t see how furiously red you’ve turned. Your flush just makes you feel more embarrassed. How dare he have such an effect on you? Infuriating. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, and notice for the first time that he's got a small bundle clutched in his left hand. “What’s that you’ve got there?” you ask, glad to change the subject.

“Ah,” he hands it over, “Take a look.”

Upon inspection, you find it’s your old clothes, the ones you arrived in.

“I thought they might be useful to bring back,” he said, “Evidence, or something.”

You unfold them to get a better look, and notice for the first time how the singed holes are bigger at the back. You’d be willing to reckon they’d line up perfectly with your burns. You tuck the tunic under your arm for safekeeping. When you look back to the Doctor, he’s got a very grim expression on his face, and a far away look in his eye. Well, you weren’t in the mood for a chat, either.

“Glad to see you made it here in one piece,” River says as you arrive back at the office. “I thought maybe I’d lose you two to the infinite hallways.”

“We managed to survive,” the Doctor smiles, taking the seat opposite River’s desk chair. “Now, I bet you want to know all about what I found out back at the scene of the crime.” 

“I’m pretty sure falling to Earth’s not a crime, actually,” you remind him. You’re forced to reduce yourself to sitting on the floor, because there aren’t enough bloody chairs in here.

He waves a hand dismissively, “Technicalities, technicalities.” He shifts his focus from you to River. “Anyway, the first thing I checked out was the TARDIS, and much as it pains me to say this, you were right, River.”

River grins smugly, “Ooh, you’ve no idea how much joy it brings me to finally hear you say those words, Doctor.”

“Ha-de-ha,” the Doctor says sarcastically. “Don’t get too big for your boots.”

“Right about what, Doctor?” you try to steer him back on track.

“There was a leak from the heart of the TARDIS. Well, actually, not a leak, more like… a crack.”

“The TARDIS’s heart’s been cracked?” River sounds very alarmed.

“No, like it’s been opened a crack,” he says. “The seal’s been broken. Except for no one’s been around to do that. Which means, she must have opened herself. Which leaves me with a whole new world of questions.”

“Well, I’ll note that down,” River resumes her spot at the chalkboard. “Perhaps that could link with your difficulty travelling here. What else? What sort of readings did you find of the local area?”

“Ah,” the Doctor nods, “Now here’s where things get even more interesting. Right in the spot you fell from - the exact spot - there’s a sort of-- how to put it…” he trails of, looking for the right words. “A sort of scar in space and time.”

“Sorry, what?” you frown. “A what now?”

“Okay, right,” he slips off his chair and onto the floor next to you. “So, imagine a piece of fabric.” He grabs your old tunic that you tucked under your knee, and holds it up. “And this fabric represents the fabric of space and time. Of reality itself. Our known universe.”

“Right,” you say slowly. “Because that makes total sense.”

“Just- just bare with me, okay? If you could remember how folding space works, you’ll be able to understand this eventually.”

“Okay.”

“Now, normally, the fabric is just that - just the fabric. Everything exists as it’s supposed to be. But, sometimes, you get these things called Pocket Planets. Have you heard of them?”

“No. Not at all.”

“They’re a bit like Pocket Universes, but much, much smaller. Only got the space for a planet or two.”

You give him a withering look, “Why would I know what that is, either?” 

The Doctor sighs, and looks around for something to demonstrate with. He settles with undoing his bow tie. He holds it up. “A pocket planet is a planet which exists separately, in it’s own plane, and in its own bubble of space and time. But, even though a Pocket Planet is very much it’s own… thingy, it still needs a larger universe to sustain itself. It’s not strong enough to survive on its own.” He pauses to allow this to sink in, before adding, “In many way’s pocket planets are like an echo - you can’t have something echo back without the original sound in the first place.” Now, he moves the strip of fabric to touch the tunic. “So, in these cases, the pocket planet and our universe both exist separately, but they’re still actually attached. With me so far?”

You blink blankly. “Absolutely not.”

“Think of it like I sewed these two things together. The tunic’s still a tunic, and the bow tie’s still a bow tie, only now they’re attached. In these very specific places, where they’re stitched together, it’s possible to cross from one part to another.”

“Ah,” you nod, “I see.” At least, you think you see. “So, you found a Pocket Planet, linked to Crete, in-” you double check the chalkboard “500 BCE?”

“Yes, well, that’s just it,” the Doctor shakes his head. “The readings were completely bizarre. It’s as if there should have been one, like there just was a minute ago, but now, something's happened, and broke our universe and the other little pocket apart.” He flings the bowtie and tunic in separate directions dramatically. “All I found was a hole, just beginning to heal over.”

“A scar,” you nod.

“Yes, like I said.”

You contemplate this for a moment. “So if that’s the case,” you say slowly, beginning to make sense of all he just told you, “Then where's the pocket planet gone? It can’t exist by itself, right? So what happened to it?”

He clicks his fingers. “That’s just it. I don’t know. These sorts of things don’t just tear apart easily. It can take millions of years for these bonds to erode away, if ever. Pocket planets are extremely rare to begin with, and if they’re severed…” he sucks in a breath. “Well, I don’t know exactly what happens. Nobody knows, really. But it’s probably not good.”

River’s finally finished noting everything down on the board. She turns back to you two. “Well, at least that answer’s one question,” she says.

“Being?” you ask.

“That’s where you fell from. The pocket planet.”

There’s a moment of silence as you all consider this revelation.

“Well…” you say finally. “I suppose that’s that part out of the way.”

The Doctor shakes his head, as if clearing his thoughts. “What did you two find out?” he asks.

River tells him what you know. About the brain scan, and the burn.

“Burns,” the Doctor says. “Oh, that explains-”

“It explains my clothes, yeah,” you agree.

“What clothes?” River asks, and so you show her them. She holds up the tunic, studying the stitching, the cut, the fabric, the style. “Now, that is interesting.”

“What is?” the Doctor peers over her shoulder.

“This garment. It’s absolutely identical to something a peasant would wear in Greece, in the same era they fell into. Completely checks out.”

“But they’re not from Greece,” the Doctor reminds her, “They’re from a different planet. I hardly think your archaeological knowledge is all that relevant right now.”

“But Doctor,” you remark, joining him by his side, “What was that you said about pocket planets being a sort of echo of our universe?”

He frowns at you, confused. “What I-” The Doctor stops. His jaw drops. He looks at you like you’ve the first to calculate the theory of relativity. “That’s… that’s brilliant! Of course! Oh, how could I have missed it?” He beams at you. “The pocket planet was an echo of our own. Your Crete and our Crete were closest, so you must have fallen through, from yours to ours!” He takes one of your hands in both of his and squeezes it, tight. You’re so excited, you don’t even pull away.

“If this is the case, then” River says thoughtfully, “Then there could be a slim - a very, very slim - chance, that we’d know who you are. If you’re an echo of our world, then maybe we can figure out what you’re an echo of.”

All three of you turn to the board. 

“We just need to think,” the Doctor murmurs. “Somewhere on that board is the key to everything.”

You gaze at River’s neat writing, reading and rereading all her notes. You try to focus, centre your mind as best you can. Which parts seem most important to you? Which parts seem connected?

Well, you’ve got the wax, the wax that burned your clothes, and your back. You are from an echo of Ancient Greece, 500 BCE. Good with labyrinths, and knowing about folded space. The opening in the TARDIS, the light. The missing planet. Your head. You painful, painful head. And finally, falling. You, falling, from way up high.

Your fingers fidget with the tunic you’re holding in your hands as you think. As you do, you notice something odd. Something stiff and small, in the little left pocket. You fish it out, and find a small white feather. You look at it in awe.

Neither River nor the Doctor notices what you’ve found, too transfixed by the writing, too lost in their thoughts. Not you though. The room is suddenly numb to you. Everything else has faded to nothingness, as you stare at the feather you’ve found. 

Stare very, very intently, because something about it makes you feel very strange indeed. It ignites a sensation that floods your body, every bit. It makes you feel… panicked. Petrified. Deathly afraid.

Something, deep in the back of your mind, begins to stir. A distant, distant, memory. Falling. Melted wax. Feathers. You gasp, and cry out.

“What?” the Doctor is by your side in an instant.

“I just-- for a moment I--” Your head begins to pound. This time, though, it’s not painful. It’s just loud. Rhythmically, it beats. But, not beating like a heartbeat. It’s beating, beating like a pair of wings.

Wings.

It’s beating like your very own wings.

“Oh my--” you draw in a deep, desperate breath, like a drowned man finally coming up for air.

“What is it?” The Doctor’s voice is growing louder. You’re crashing back down to Earth now. Falling back again.

You blink rapidly, and there he is, face wracked with concern, just inches from yours. You bring up the small, white feather between you. “I know!” you cry. “I know who I am! Thank the Gods!”

“Thank the-- the Gods? Gods, plural?” Finally, it looks like maybe the Doctor is catching up.

You stagger backwards and screw your eyes shut. You can feel the blood pumping in your veins, feel your heart thumping in your chest. You are aware of every fibre in your body. You are aware of every cell in your lungs. You are aware of every nerve in your brain. Your beautiful, beautiful brain, finally, it’s yours again. 

Your eyes fly open. “I remember!” you scream, “I remember everything!” Radiant golden light pours out your mouth, drips down from your eyes. You raise your feather above you, and throw your head back to wail to the heavens:

“I am Icarus!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you're enjoying this fic, feel free to drop me a kudos + comment - it really makes my day :) || Shoot me a message, ask or fic request on my Tumblr - https://fayoftheforest.tumblr.com


	10. Recreating

It’s raining heavily when you burst out of the building. As you throw open the doors, lightning flashes, and for a split second the world is illuminated in a ghostly white light. Then, you are plunged back into darkness, backed by a rich rumbling roll of thunder.

“Wait!”

You snap around to see the Doctor, for once struggling to keep up with you, and River close behind. He catches sight of the golden gas that pours from your mouth like cigarette smoke and flinches. “Why are you running? Where are you going?”

“Home,” you say, and as you do so you hear a chorus of voices begin in the back of your mind, as if your proclamation has finally stirred them from their deep, deep sleep. You resume your journey, forging your way through the raindrops.

“But you don’t-” the Doctor splutters, “You can’t. Icarus, your home is gone.”

“It may be gone for now,” you tap your forehead, and tiny sparks fly from it like falling stars, “But I remember it. I remember it all. The Gods saw to that.” You cross a main road without looking either way. Car horns blare angrily. To you, they are a choir.

“Sorry,” River waves apologetically at one of the drivers, before turning her attention back to you. “What does that even mean?”

“The Gods knew our universe was breaking. Fraying at the edges, splitting at the seams. They knew they had to do something, anything, to stop it. To put our world in stasis, until we could find a new home.”

“So it’s frozen somewhere?” The Doctor pants, trying to catch on. “Stored away?”

“Sort of.” The light radiating from your eyes casts great, looming shadows on the pavement ahead of you. “But, less frozen, more… captured. Like a memory, or a-” you search your mind for the knowledge you’ve acquired of modern technology over the past day, to find an analogy to best explain it to him, “A file.”

“A file?” the Doctor sounds skeptical at best. “A file, in your head?” He glances around, “Hang on, where are we even going?”

“Here,” you round the corner to an alleyway - a seemingly empty one. In all honesty, you’re not quite sure why you came here yourself. It’s hard to tell who’s driving your body right now, you or the thousands of voices ringing out. Still, you know what you’re about to do next. It won’t be easy.

“Stand back,” you warn. You reach both of your hands out, and summon the strength of the hundred Gods you can feel inside of you, thrumming at your fingertips. You give the air a sharp tug, and as you do so, feel a visceral lurch, as if the air is tugging back. It hurts. A fucking lot, actually. You collapse to the floor, only to feel the ground beneath you begin to tremor and shake. There’s a great wheezing noise, and then, as if by magic, the TARDIS materialises in front of you.

The Doctor is by your side, but you wave him away, and manage to stand by yourself, leaning on the sturdy blue box for support. He looks at you like you’ve just performed an act of God. In a way, you have. “How- but- but how did you- You just made her-”

“Doctor, the Gods knew our world was breaking,” you turn to him, voice strained, “And that they themselves could not survive in your universe, with its own rules. So they saved our world as a memory inside the greatest mortal mind they could find: mine. They were part of that world, Doctor, intrinsically so, and in doing that they themselves were constricted to me.” The ground seems to sway beneath you, and you lean on the side of the TARDIS for support.

“So, what, you’re saying you’ve got the powers of the Gods at your discretion?” River asks.

“Unfortunately so,” you groan, gritting your teeth to steel yourself against the pain. Hot saliva fills your mouth.

“But, in a human body?” River continues. 

“Last time I checked,” you gulp out.

“How does that feel?”

Your stomach gives a lurch as the pounding inside your skull grows ever more persistent “Not great, actually. Wouldn’t recommend it.” You try to muster all your strength, willing yourself not to throw up. This is not a battle you win. You double over and retch, feeling your abdominal muscles twist in the effort. Those jammy dodgers do not taste nearly as good on the way up.

You stagger backwards, and almost fall over, but the Doctor is right behind you. His arm snakes around your shoulders. “Careful, now,” he says, pulling you close to his chest. You rest your forehead against him, and concentrate on the quick pulse of his heart in an effort to calm yourself. He smells of smoke and a little bit of engine oil. It’s strangely comforting.

“I’m starting to get why you didn’t remember any of this when you woke up,” River says, worry fracturing her voice, “The burden of a universe - however small - is far too great for one person.”

“Yeah, you should see how it worked out for Atlas,” you mutter under your breath.

“What?”

“Nothing. Stupid joke, now’s not the time.”

“Oh!” The Doctor gasps like someone who’s placed the last piece of a puzzle, only to find they recognise the picture. “Your memory. It’s just like with Donna, how I had to put a block in her mind, because- and it was too painful, so-” He speaks in fragmented sentences as his mind whirs, “But- but the memories could come back, triggered by me, in the same way that you remembered- because of- but that means-” He stops short, mouth hanging open, the full gravity of the situation finally hitting him. He looks down at you, eyes filled with fear. “Oh, this is bad. This is really, really bad.”

“Thanks for the reassurance,” you grumble, pulling away. You blink furiously and your vision focuses once more, along with your determination.

“Let’s get inside,” River says. She’s already unlocked the doors.

“How did you do that?” the Doctor asks.

“I kept my key,” she grins, waving the small bit of metal at him triumphantly. “Always knew I’d need it again eventually.”

As you stagger into the TARDIS, the voices seem to grow tenfold. They synchronize into a great booming, echoing scream: Open! Open! Open! Open!

The Doctor materialises by your side again. “So, now-”

“Will you shut up!” you screech, pounding your fists against your head.

The Doctor looks at you in dismay, almost a little hurt, but you wave a hand dismissively at him. 

“No, not you, I meant the- the voices!” You have to shout to hear yourself over them. And still, they grow louder.

He looks at you blankly. “Voices?”

“Can’t you hear them? Screaming?” Their cries are deafening, a cacophony of fear and pain. You can feel your sanity start to slip.

“Icarus, there are no voices.” 

A low moan escapes your lips. You begin to rip at your hair, tearing violently at your scalp as if that will silence them, but the Doctor’s hands are on yours in an instant, preventing you from doing so. You wrestle with him for a moment, and he forces you back, pinning you against the control panel at the centre of the room.

“Stop it!” he shouts, “You have to stay with us! Icarus, you have to stay sane!” He takes his hands and places a thumb and forefinger on your cranium. Golden light bursts from his fingers and seeps into your skull.

You take a deep, shuddering gasp. The energy is a jolt of electricity in your veins, followed by a momentary numbness. “Oh Gods,” you whimper, “Oh Gods, I don’t know if I can do this.” Tears stream down your face, liquid gold. 

“You can,” the Doctor cups your face, “You can. You’re strong enough, I know you are. You can do this.”

You nod grimly. The cries are already growing once more: Open! Open! Open! Open! 

“So what do we do?” River asks.

Reluctantly, you let the voices’ desperate message wash over you. “I need to go in,” you say weakly.

“In? In where?” the Doctor asks.

“Into the TARDIS.”

“But you’re in--”

“The heart of the TARDIS.”

He looks at you like you’ve asked him to shoot you in the face. “No,” he whispers. “No, you can’t. Even so much as looking in there would kill you, but actually going inside-”

“I don’t have a choice,” you say, “It’s what has to be done.”

“But-”

“Just trust me, okay?”

For a split second, everything goes quiet. The only sound you can hear is the quick, panicked breaths of the Doctor, as he searches your eyes, as if the answer might be hidden deep inside, just out of reach. “Okay,” he says after a moment, “Okay.” He puts his hands up and takes a step back, and you can tell how much strength and self control it’s taking him right now not to pour every last ounce of his own energy into you. “I trust you. Do what feels right.”

You rotate and put your hands on the dashboard, steadying yourself. “Close your eyes,” you warn them.

“Is there a phrase they have to say?” River asks the Doctor, with her hands over her face. “Like, a command word, or a button to press, or-”

“OPEN,” the voice that leaves your lips is a culmination of every soul you have saved inside you. And at that, it does. A fine yellow line traces itself down the centre of the hub, and with a puff of releasing pressure, the split widens, big enough for you to slip inside. You look away quickly, back at the two standing anxiously, eyes covered, leaning against the railing.

“Good luck,” the Doctor says, so quietly it’s a miracle you heard him.

You take a step towards him and kiss him lightly on the cheek. 

He gasps softly as he feels your lips brush him. A slow smile cautiously across his face.

Without taking your eyes off that grin, you walk steadily backwards. Backwards, into the heart of the TARDIS… 

The moment you step in, everything feels different. Everything feels… peaceful. Suddenly, you’re not quite sure where you end and the TARDIS begins. It’s as if your very essence is melting away, and you are becoming one with the gentle golden plasma. 

Well, at least you’re not dead. That’s a nice surprise.

The door closes behind you, and it makes sense to you, now, why it was so difficult for you to travel in here before. The TARDIS may be infinitely huge, but carrying a person with the density of a planet is no small task. But now, you’re a part of her. You and her are connected now, and you hope this means you can travel with her without the disaster that befell you before. You centre yourself, and think of nothing but where you want to go. Home, or the closest place to it.

Crete, 503 BCE.

You feel it, then. An exhilarating rush. A swish, as you move down the spiralling tunnel of space and time. You feel centuries, millenia, eons rush by you, all in a wonderful, joyful blur. 

And then, as soon as it started, it stops.

You open your eyes - or, the TARDIS equivalent of that - and have a look around. You’re suspended, in the night sky, right by the very place you fell from. Everything looks so different from this perspective. Still. Sublime. Serene. You take a closer look, and yes, there it is: the scar. Through the TARDIS’s eyes, it’s as plain as day. It’s just beginning to heal over, just beginning to scab, but you know it’s still fresh enough. 

You close your eyes again, and allow your mind to melt into that of the TARDIS’s. Allow her to soak in every nook and cranny, every thought and daydream and worry in your waking memory. You feel her peruse you, until she finds what she’s looking for. It’s not hard. The perfect impression of your planet sticks out like the Mona Lisa at a primary school’s arts fair.

And, as she looks through your mind, you look through hers. Information on Ancient Greece. The culture, the geography, the people, the places. Every single detail you can scavenge, you put to one side, until you have amassed a mountain of information. Enough to make an echo, you hope.

You open your eyes once more, and reach out to the scar. Your tendrils of golden light slip gently through the slit, into the nothingness, like fingertips clinging to cracks in a wall. Together, you focus your entire being on harnessing your collective knowledge, your collective power. 

You inhale. 

You exhale. 

You feel your brave new world begin to trickle through your fingertips. Ebbing slowly at first, but picking up pace, until eventually, you don’t even need to think about it any more. Every person, place and thing that once lived here, reformed. Regifted life. 

And thus, you remake your lovely little world. Redo your lovely little sun. Repaint all the lovely little constellations in your lovely little sky. And, oh, how beautiful it is. The Gods could not be more proud of your work. You feel their radiant pride, their deep gratitude, as they return to their little pocket universe: the final ingredient. 

And at that, a great weight has been lifted from your shoulders. You are emptied, freed from the burdens that almost killed you. You are a mere mortal once again, nothing more.

Mortal.

That thought does not sit well with the TARDIS. You feel her shift and stir uncomfortably, and without being able to stop it, you feel yourself begin to split away from her. No longer are you a powerful wealth of knowledge, a vessel of hope for a new world. To her, your emptied self feels nothing more like a fly she has inhaled. You are not welcome anymore. She is severing your bonds. 

You try to stop her, try to explain, to help her understand, but it’s too late. You know what’s coming, just as well as she does too. The door to the heart of the TARDIS bursts open, as do her exterior doors, too. With a bang, you are ejected, unceremoniously, from inside her. You shoot out like a rocket, through the main room, and out into the frozen sky.

For a nanosecond, which seems to last a lifetime, you hang, suspended, above the island of Crete. You look down at the ground, far, far below you, and back up at the TARDIS.

“No,” you breathe. “Gods, no.”

It’s too late. The TARDIS has slammed her doors, and is already phasing away. Gravity will have her wicked way with you. You let loose a bloodcurdling scream.

Once again, you are falling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you're enjoying this fic, feel free to drop me a kudos + comment - it really makes my day :) || Shoot me a message, ask or fic request on my Tumblr - https://fayoftheforest.tumblr.com


	11. Falling (Reprise)

In stories and in fairytales, when people fall, everything shifts into slow motion. Characters are given the time to think, the time to reflect, to figure out how they’re gonna work their way outta this one.

In actuality, nothing about this motion feels ‘slow’. Everything is rushing, quick and fast and sharp. You reckon you have about thirty seconds until impact, maybe less. With the inevitable end drawing near, you try to come up with some deep and powerful parting phrase for your last words; something which future generations will recall and discuss for eons after your death. 

But all you can think of is “Fuck, my head feels so much… lighter.” To be fair, it does. You swallow and brace yourself for what’s to come. 

And then it appears. With a whooshing, whining wheeze, the TARDIS materialises on the ground below you. A familiar figure steps out, and the doors shut gently behind him. He looks to the bright, starry night sky and watches you as you fall. 

Any sane man should duck, maybe run for cover, to shield himself from the inevitable bloody mess that’s fast approaching, but he’s done a good job demonstrating so far that he is not a sane man. Instead, instinctively, he holds out his arms. The TARDIS works her wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey magic.

You slow to the fall of a feather.

He catches you quite neatly in his arms. For a moment, neither of you says anything. You just stare at each other. You’re shaking, and he is too, but his eyes are sparkling with pride.

“You did it,” the Doctor says quietly, though there’s no one else around to hear it than you. “You put your planet back.” He does not put you down. He does not let you go.

“I did it,” you breathe, meeting his gaze. “I did it.” A smile spreads across your face, brighter than the sun. He echoes yours.

“Tell me what’s going on in your head now,” he says, in no more than a whisper. His eyes flick down to your mouth, just for a moment. “Tell me what you’re thinking. What are you thinking, right now?”

Well, you don’t have to think too hard about what to do next. You lean in and kiss him gently. Kiss him slowly. Kiss him softly.

He drops you.

“Ow!” you cry, as you hit the ground with a thump. “Fucking ow!”

“Oh, god, sorry!” he cries, flailing his arms like a panicked windmill. He hastily helps you to your feet, “I didn’t expect you to do that.”

“Was that not the natural next course of action?” you ask, irritatedly brushing dirt off your legs.

“Well, in retrospect I can see that now, yes,” he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck.

“Never mind,” you grumble, “Thanks for not letting me splat into a pancake, I guess.”

“That’s the second time now,” he tuts teasingly. “I should start charging.”

You pat your pockets in a show of searching for a wallet. “Sorry, could you put it on my tab? I don’t seem to have-”

The Doctor darts forward, swift as an arrow, and kisses you. You’re the one to be caught off guard now, and you stumble backwards until you’re pressed against the side of the TARDIS. He does not stop. He does not slow. In fact, neither of you pull away for quite a while.

A polite cough breaks your spell.

The Doctor turns, one arm still around you, to see River standing with her arms crossed. “Are you two quite finished?” She does her best to look annoyed, but you can tell she’s hiding a smile. She saw this coming sooner than either of you did, anyway.

The Doctor steps back and straightens his bow tie, a little embarrassed. He clears his throat. “Right. Yes. Of course.”

You roll your eyes at his bashful disposition. “Come on, Doctor,” you take his hand and lead him inside. “Let’s go admire my handiwork.”

\---

Travelling in a TARDIS when you are neither carrying a planet in your brain, nor are part of the heart itself, is actually quite an enjoyable experience. Things buzz and flash in a very chipper manner, and you admire it all with cautious intrigue. Still, it will take you a while to get used to it all.

“Here we are,” The Doctor says. “Home, sweet home.”

“And I can just… open the doors?” You eye the handles up dubiously.

“You can indeed.”

Slowly, carefully, you inch the doors open just a smidge, and peer through the crack.

“Well?”

“Oh,” you breath, “Oh Gods.” Here you are, a little blue box, floating in space. And there it is, a little blue world, hanging from afar.

“You can open it more than that,” the Doctor says, and so you do. Together, you take in the full magnificence of your little pocket universe you’ve saved. “Look at all the stars around us,” he says in awe. “I didn’t expect there to be stars. How are there stars?”

“They’re constellations,” you say. “They’re our fallen heroes and our slain monsters, immortalised in the heavens.”

“Wow,” he smiles at you, “that’s pretty cool.”

“Thanks,” you wink, “I think I did a pretty good job.”

He sits down on the floor of the TARDIS, dangling his legs over the edge, into the expanse beyond. He notices your look of alarm, “Relax, it’s perfectly safe!”

“But how-”

“Magic, obviously.” He offers you a hand in invitation for you to join him, and so you take it, and hesitantly you sit by his side. You inch your lower legs over the edge, squeezing his hand tight, as if he’s the only thing stopping you from tumbling out into the beyond. “Ouch,” he winces at your iron grip, “Ease up a little.”

“Sorry,” you loosen your fingers. “I guess it’ll take me a while to get used to heights again, what with all the falling I’ve done lately.”

The Doctor puts an arm around you. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

Safe. That’s a word that’s not felt truly yours for a very long time. You lean into him, “Thank you.”

A sly grin snakes across his face, and he pretends to lurch you forward, into the unknown. He’s got a secure grip on you, but it still makes you squeal.

“Don’t do that!” you whine, hitting his chest playfully.

He laughs, warm and lyrical.

“You’re so mean!”

“I’m terribly sorry,” he bows his head in a mock concession, “I swear I won’t do it again.”

“Yeah, you’d better not,” you pout at him, but you can’t hold back your own laughter too. Your fingers find their way to his suspenders, loop around them, and pull, so that he’s maneuvered into a kiss that he’s all too happy to oblige to. He tastes so sweet.

When you break, you continue to admire the scenery in a peaceful, contented silence. Head resting on his chest, you shift your gaze to the sun, a billowing ball of brilliant fire. “I’m pleased with how that turned out, too,” you say. “Maybe most of all.”

“Mmn,” the Doctor hums his agreement, “I’ve seen a thousand suns in my time, and your’s has gotta be the best. Well, second best.”

Your hand flies to your mouth in a declaration of horror and indignation. “How dare you! What’s number one?”

“Sygnath Five, of course,” he grins wickedly. “I’ll take you there some time, it’s a real beauty. Maybe you can take notes.”

You pull a face, “Well, there’s no accounting for taste.”

He laughs, and goes back to studying the sun. Spirals and rings form and disappear on the surface in the blink of an eye, a never ending dance. “In our myths, they say you flew too close to it,” the Doctor says. “Too close to the sun.”

You scoff, “I don’t know about that.”

“Well, didn’t you?”

You take a moment to consider this. Look at the sun. Look at him. Back at the sun. “I like to think I flew just close enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo-hoo, we did it, baby!! Made it to the end 😎 I had a lot of fun writing this. I really hope you guys enjoyed it! Do let me know if you did. 
> 
> My next story will be coming soon, so stay tuned. It's gonna be a South Park fic, but tbh you don't actually have had to have watched a single episode to read it haha. It's based on/is a continuation of Deephurting's "South Park Confidential", which you can read here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6418384/chapters/14694370 
> 
> Thanks again for reading!  
> Love ya xoxo  
> \- Fay


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